


Poems, Short Stories, Quotes, Speeches, Lyrics

by Misfit_Meraki



Category: Poetry - Fandom, Short Stories - Fandom, Speech - Fandom
Genre: Art, Autumn, Birthday, Bittersweet, Black Lives Matter, Childhood Trauma, Depressing, Flowers, Gen, Happy, Memories, Other, Poems, Politics, Rain, Rhyming, School, Short Stories, Speeches, aesthetic, quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misfit_Meraki/pseuds/Misfit_Meraki
Summary: “Pain can make you a better person, but never give credit to those who hurt you, but yourself for overcoming it all.”-Artistic AlexThis is a pocket book of my poems and other works that are miscellaneous to my other stories. It probably won’t get much attention but I’d like to have these things out there :))
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. As a Kid

As a Kid  
  


As a kid you’re happy, sad isn’t an option,  
It makes you someone who is left to the wayside.

As a kid you aren’t meant to question, you are what is around you and everyone is okay, don’t let them tell you otherwise.

As a kid you’re meant to make friends, loneliness is broken and broken leaves you searching,  
you won’t find an answer.

As a kid those rose tinted glasses are meant to stay on your face,  
because the second you remove them is the second you’re hated.

The mirror is a lie,

the system is corrupted,

the people are dying,

and even as a kid, it’s your fault.

As a kid you listen to authority,  
no matter who they are or what they ask you to do.

As a kid you keep your eyes forward, education is everything, nothing else matters.

Eyes on your own paper and keep to yourself, but remember to raise your hand.

As a kid you’re expendable,  
Someone will always be better, you are a replacements replacement.

As a kid mom and dad know what’s best, whatever they do, even if it hurts, it’s for your own good. 

As a kid trends are everything, popularity is important but avoid the cool kids,  
stand out, fit in.

As a kid, hobbies are useless, art, music, writing, they won’t ever get you far, but remember to pick a sport.

As a kid those rose tinted glasses are meant to stay on your face,  
because the second you remove them is the second you’re hated.

But now you’re grown up, they’re broken and so are you,

  
and as an adult you repeat the cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my starter for really getting back into poetry. Many people around me disliked what I wrote, often thinking there was some underlying joke to it all.
> 
> Although I don’t speak to them anymore, this collection stays up out of dedication and spite.
> 
> This poem, (or more a speech rather) is a reflection of how I feel about my childhood, and how I feel about the upbringing of the next generation, how life is a series of cycles that the longer they last, the more obvious they become, but despite this- harder to break and or stop.
> 
> My mom found this one. Needless to say she wasn’t happy.


	2. The Last Leaf

The Last Leaf  
  


Like the very last leaf blowing in the wind,  
I carry the breeze of both the hope and the sin.

I bored a deep red that has too soon gone brown,

My family takes place on the streets of this town.

The pumpkins long gone and the ending of fall, 

here on this tree I stay standing tall.

A grass a dull green that I’ve never felt, 

The beautiful landscape has all gone to welt.

But as the last leaf, I still hang up high,

Here I watch the moon travel over the sky

Although I am lonely atop this branch,

Soon we’ll regrow and I’ll still have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite season is fall. Or- I believe it was anyway. I’m finding myself leaning more towards winter now! 
> 
> I’m in Michigan, this means autumn is a very brief phenomenon and sometimes we don’t get it at all! 
> 
> Very strange.


	3. October Rain

October Rain

It is mid October and today it always 

rains. Every year, no matter how clear,

the clouds pour the same.

You’d think I’d be unhappy, you’d think 

that I would be down, 

But even when bad things happen, 

Rain always stays around.

Every mid October, I always feel alone, 

Because despite me knowing I have rain,

no place feels like home.

So here I sit, in the rain, with my one 

balloon,

Today it says “happy birthday” and by 

myself I hum a tune.

Happy Birthday, rain, 

I hope you get what you wish,

because no matter what, your day is one 

I will not miss.

Once I’m done I release the balloon,

I watch it touch the sky,

Because I chose to give on a birthday 

that is no longer mine.

Because it never was.

Happy Birthday, rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is like- not great haha.
> 
> But... It means something to me, so it won’t ever be removed. 
> 
> Every year, no matter what, since I’ve been born, it’s rained on my birthday. 
> 
> October 14th. Every year. 
> 
> It used to make me sad as a kid. There isn’t much to do when it rains, so I was always down. Later on though, I felt more comforted by it than anything. It’s one of the few stabilities I have.
> 
> As a kid I used to imagine that it was the rains birthday, too. I’d sit at the window and wait every year, though sometimes it rained too early or too late for me to bid it a happy birthday.


	4. American Dream

American Dream  
  


Equality.  
  


It’s a promise, a right, but we’ve made it

nothing more than a hope.

Freedom.

We live in the home of the free, the land

of the brave, but when the brave speak

they are silenced,

when the brave speak they are wrong

and sensitive.

Justice.

We are told to be strong while we watch

others get the strength beaten out of

them,

we watch them fight for justice just to

see them fall short, and we never speak

their names.

Martin Luther King Jr. had a dream but

we act as if you may only dream once,

A whole race had a dream, but we killed

it.

That dream was not to report a story of a

man begging to breath.

That dream was not for black boys and

girls to be shot in the streets for wanting

justice they deserve.

That dream was not the violence and

divide of cilvian on officers who were not

involved.

People say all lives matter and forget the

people hurt and killed for their race,

People say all lives matter but blame

their pain on the religion others follow.

People say all lives matter but ignore the

queer children who are abused daily.

People say all lives matter, but they don’t

mean all lives, they mean their own.

American citizens say they hate politics

but gossip when the trans man uses the

bathroom.

American citizens say they hate politics

but bully the girl wearing a hijab.

American citizens say they hate politics

but avoid

the gays in the locker rooms to avoid 

assault.

I’m proud to be an American,

but all that means is don’t mispeak the

governments authority.

Atleast I know I’m free, 

free to keep to myself and remain in fear

that I may have something taken from

me.

I won’t forget who gave that right to me, 

the people who stood for the cis white

men.

And I proudly stand up, 

but not for those fifty stars and thirteen

stripes, but for my fellow people of injustice-

people of color, any gender or sexual or

gender identity, because freedom and

justice means nothing if we let that

dream die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say their names.


	5. What People Say

What People Say

  
  


People always tell me that it’s fine,

but how could it be when I see it falling

apart?

People always say to smile,

But how could I when the mask does it

for me?

People always say my feelings aren’t feel,

but how are they not when everything

aches?

Even with my questions, I listen and

believe them.

People always say my meds are working,

but how could they be when I was

already numbing the pain myself?

People always say to cover up,

But how could I not when they tell me to

hate my body?

People always say to move on,

but how could I when it’s still happening?

Even with my questions, I listen and

believe them.

But do I have to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another mediocre one. 
> 
> I feel like society sets many standards far out of anyone’s reach. It sickening, truly.


	6. Butterflies to Bats

Butterflies to Bats

The first time I got butterflies was not

too long ago,

They were pretty and fairly witty, but

held a high ego.

The butterflies flapped whenever they

came by.

Was this love or fear, always wondered

the butterflies?

Soon I confessed myself and our

relationship was excited,

we laughed and held each other close,

the butterflies were delighted.

But then things got strange, my lover

pushed and pulled,

They demanded and said awful names,

the butterflies soon went cold.

My heart began to hurt with tearing in

the walls,

But I kept my hope, learn to not say no,

while I was fast to fall.

The more I was asked and called, the

more that it would ache,

But soon enough for my pour heart,

It was all that I could take.

After I was used, that bats were all I

had,

but everyday, as my bled I said “no, it’s

not too bad.”

But gone were the butterflies, I haven’t

seen them since, 

So when love is near, I’m in fear of the

bats ruthless vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you relate to this, I’m sorry. Really, I am.
> 
> The meaning of this is fairly easy to understand. Love is so fickle. I’m unsure if it’s because many of us have been surrounded by such painful marriages and bad teachings, but it seems as if love no longer exists in healthy manifestations. 
> 
> I’m not blameless in the scenarios where I’ve been hurt. I still believe I’m the main root of most, though to healthier eyes they believe not. Despite this, I still hope one day I can find what love really is. 
> 
> I’m still young, after all.


	7. So I Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Self Harm, suicidal ideation, strong language

So I Die

I want to scream

I don’t know what I’d even scream but I’d like to scream until my ears are ringing, until my boiled blood has frozen over, until my throat bleeds raw from the sheer force of what I hold inside of me.

I want to hurt myself, I want to tear my skin open, tear it all apart limb by limb to rebuild it only to destroy it again. I want to break, I want to break myself, I want to be in pieces when I’m done, but who’s to say I’m not already in pieces? I’m in pieces and slicing myself with the shards, only a diamond can cut a diamond, but everything wears eventually. All gems are useless in a grand scheme, there’s always a better piece of jewelry and the world has no use for fake diamonds.

I want to hurt others, all the sympathy I feel melts away in the latest part of the night, I’d never harm someone but I’d love to just yell, yell and never have them retaliate, I’d love to just emotionally break them and make them unable to do anything except ponder how they’ve broken what’s left of me. 

I want people to hurt me. Alternatively I want to be beaten to a pulp, an absolutely destroyed bloody mess.I want to mouth off to the wrong person and be beaten within an inch of my life. I deserve it, after all, you can’t kill what’s already dead.

I want to be yelled at, I want people to yell until their lungs are flat of all air. I want them to tell my how I’m worthless, how I’ve ruined their lives, I want them to scream, I want them to destroy what I have left so I can’t pick myself back up.

I want to die. I want to swallow pill after pill until my mouth fills with foam as I collapse onto the floor. I want to slice my skin open and rip out my veins and watch the useless blood poor from my body. I want to shoot myself in the mouth only for it to fail so I can feel a slow painful death as I lose control of my brain. I want to swing from a rope until the ceiling comes down, I want to feel the breathe run out. I want to drown in the deepest of waters, I want to force myself under the tide with bricks as heavy as my guilt until I can no longer make it to the top even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to save myself. I want to set myself on fire, watch my skin light a blaze, my clothes strike into flames like a match downed in gasoline. I want to die. I want to die. I WANT TO DIE.

I don’t want to die.

I’m so scared.

I don’t want to die.

Are they scared to?

They want me to die.

So I die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my most emotional spurs I’ve ever made. I can’t really read it without feeling sick- I felt a lot of bitter hatred in this moment. Maybe one day I can face this again, but for now it’s for you to read, not me.


	8. Quote #1

“Pain can make you a better person, but never give credit to those who hurt you, but yourself for overcoming it all.”

-Artistic Alex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use this a lot :))


	9. The Flower That Bloomed Gray

The Flower That Bloomed Gray

Today I’m stuck inside my bed

I’m full of thoughts that plague my head,

I move my hand, it feels detached

and all I know is what hurt me last,

I look at bruises that can’t be there

I hurt myself and pull my hair,

Will it matter what’s in the past 

if we all turn from bone to ash,

Maybe I’m broken, not meant to stay, 

or I’m just a flower that bloomed gray?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People often blame basic genetics for every problem you might have. Even though it’s proven that mental health issues can carry, things like EDs, BPD, and PTSD are not one of them. 
> 
> It’s hard to get help when people gaslight and convince you that you’re better off than you are, even if it’s hardly possible, please hold onto your truth.
> 
> You weren’t born to hurt.


	10. Art is a Lie

Art is a Lie  
  


Art is everywhere,

It’s in your clothes, makeup, music, or

things you read.

Art is beautiful,

It can come in any form and become a

voice to the voiceless.

But it’s a lie.

It’s a tool of manipulation,

it’s colors and words to make you feel,

even if you don’t wish to.

It’s colors to make you hungry, 

words to make you angry,

jokes to make you ignore why they are

even funny to begin with,

It’s because they hurt.

Art is media.

It’s control.

What empowers you makes you a slave

to talents you’ll never reach the top to, 

a fight for popularity- hoping to reach the

farthest when someone will always be

better by pure subjectivity.

Art is a lie.

They’ll tell you it’ll take you nowhere,

and perhaps they are right.

The colors are bland, the jokes are

unfunny,

the music is pandering, and the words

are aloof.

Art is reality,

It’s a hope, an escape, a wish.

At least... It _was._

  
I can’t say so anymore.

  
Art is a lie. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by “Art is Dead” by musical comedian Bo Burnham. 
> 
> It carries similar features, but I think I speak my truth through this rather well.
> 
> Art is as beautiful as it is irritating. I’m sure if you’ve done anything artistic (music, drawing, writing) you are compared to someone above you, regardless of your skill set.
> 
> The art community in every form is a very toxic place to be, though that doesn’t mean you should steer clear of it all. Just remember that everyone learns at different speeds, and to someone you are the greatest artist in the world. (Even if you don’t know them)


	11. Song Lyric #1

“Maybe if I changed my ways, I’d be something worth being saved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how to write music but I do be thinking about it sometimes- so I’ll now start posting the ones I think of randomly.


	12. Stop Digging

Stop Digging  
  


Today I can’t breathe,

No matter how hard I try my breath is

gone,

Every inhale is once received after a

shock,

every exhale a kick to my lungs that

force my chest to collapse.

Today I can’t move,

no matter what I think of it’s not enough

to get me out of this sunken bed,

It’s imprint holds me hostage.

Today I can’t think,

my brain tells me I’m a failure, that I

won’t succeed and I can’t argue, 

someday someone will get what I always

wanted and the thought of me won’t

have even mattered.

Today my body is pulling me down,

I feel as if I’m watching myself from a far

distance while my person remains deaf

and blind,

they have no will to speak about the bonds around their neck.

Today I can’t NOT change,

because I reached the bottom of the pit,

even after I kept digging past the rock,

I have no choice but to make stairs and

climb them on step as a time and find the light above me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel as if we are all guilty of picking up a shovel in the pit. 
> 
> This was an attempt at something “inspiring.”


	13. What Am I?

What Am I?  
  


The body or the brain?

The joy or the pain?

The persona?

Or the thoughts?

The beauty? 

Or the flaws?

Will it matter when the day is through,

If I can’t be what you need me to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poem is very old! Made around mid 2018, I believe. 
> 
> It was originally part of a comic I had done. I have a photo of it, though it went unfinished. Despite this, I still remembered the poem without further thought.
> 
> I find this more relevant to me now than then, so I’m posting it here. :))


	14. Song Lyric #2

“Little child,

Cover you eyes,

You can’t use both hands to blind and 

deafen their lies.

You’ll only know half of the truth. 

It’ll be apart of me, as it’s a part you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to something with this so bad but I can’t think of anything. I might make it a poem one day, though.


End file.
